Rhys takes a drink. Even Harrison takes a drink. It’s so nothing, stealing from your parents. Money went missing from my dad’s wallet all the time and he never knew about it. It was the only way I could contribute because he wouldn’t let me work before I turned eighteen. Lily was allowed, just not me. Arbitrary rules. Lily was at the supermarket setting aside what she could for us. But I couldn’t let her do it all by herself. I touch the bandage on my head, let my finger dig into it until I feel the sting. If I’d been caught in his wallet, if he noticed the missing bills, it would’ve been so bad for me. Lily told me that every time I handed them to her but she still took the money because it was for our escape plan. Our escape plan. Our. Escape. Together.
“Okay?” Rhys asks me. I lower my hand and nod. He contemplates the bottle next and then, after a long moment says, “I have never fallen in love.”
Depressing. Worse: Trace and Grace are the only ones who drink. Cary avoids my eyes and it takes me a minute to figure out why; he had sex with Lily, but didn’t love her. I don’t know if that kind of thing makes more or less sense to me now.
Cary grabs the bottle from Grace after she has her drink.
“Are we even deciding turns right?” I ask, confused.
Cary takes a swig out of turn. “If we’re doing it wrong, we won’t call it I Never. It’s just sharing, Sloane. That’s all it is.”
“In that case.” Harrison clears his throat. “I’ve never had sex.”
I know if I don’t drink, it’ll just be me and Harrison, so I take the bottle after Rhys has his go and I take a longer pull off it than I should, like I am so totally not a virgin.
I pass it to Grace. Trace makes retching noises as she sips.
“Sloane, you haven’t gone yet,” Rhys points out. “You’ve never I nevered.”
And then the bottle is back in my hands. I don’t know what to say, share. It’s funny how little I’ve actually done of the things that are supposed to matter—kiss, sex, drugs—but I’ve killed a man. I’ve done that. I close my eyes but when I do, my brain feels a bit liquid. I sort of hate that. But it seems a fair trade-off because the whiskey has dulled my aches. I like that.
“I’ve never…” I stare at the label. “I never…”
“You’re thinking about it too long,” Trace says.
“I’ve never run away from home.”
Cary drinks. When he was five, he explains. He didn’t want to clean his room.
So we go round and round, the questions getting more perverted and inane as we do. The bottle seems endless and I feel sleepy and hot and I’ve lied to them all a lot because I guess I care what they think and I don’t even know why I care what they think.
When Harrison passes on drink number who knows, Trace zeroes in on him.
“Man, what have you done ?” he asks. “You take drinks when you shouldn’t and you don’t drink when you should. You need to do something about your…” Oops. It’s not a sentence Trace should finish, but he does it anyway. “Life.”
“How world-weary were you at fourteen?” Rhys asks.
“I’m not saying he should’ve fucked someone already,” Trace says generously. He’s smashed. “But I mean, Harrison, do you like—do you even know what a kiss is? Like … do you need someone here to explain it to you just in case it happened and you didn’t know?”
“Jesus, Trace,” Cary mutters. Out of all of us, he’s the most gone. Or experienced, I guess. His shoulders are slumped and every so often he tilts forward like he’s lost his balance, even though he’s sitting. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I know what a kiss is,” Harrison whispers.
“He’s fourteen, ” Grace says, while Harrison sits there looking devastated. “Don’t be so hard on him, Trace.”
“I’m fifteen,” Harrison says miserably.
“Just forget it, Harrison. Please.” Cary grabs the bottle. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But it is. I’ve never—I’ve never
“Okay?” Rhys asks me. I lower my hand and nod. He contemplates the bottle next and then, after a long moment says, “I have never fallen in love.”
Depressing. Worse: Trace and Grace are the only ones who drink. Cary avoids my eyes and it takes me a minute to figure out why; he had sex with Lily, but didn’t love her. I don’t know if that kind of thing makes more or less sense to me now.
Cary grabs the bottle from Grace after she has her drink.
“Are we even deciding turns right?” I ask, confused.
Cary takes a swig out of turn. “If we’re doing it wrong, we won’t call it I Never. It’s just sharing, Sloane. That’s all it is.”
“In that case.” Harrison clears his throat. “I’ve never had sex.”
I know if I don’t drink, it’ll just be me and Harrison, so I take the bottle after Rhys has his go and I take a longer pull off it than I should, like I am so totally not a virgin.
I pass it to Grace. Trace makes retching noises as she sips.
“Sloane, you haven’t gone yet,” Rhys points out. “You’ve never I nevered.”
And then the bottle is back in my hands. I don’t know what to say, share. It’s funny how little I’ve actually done of the things that are supposed to matter—kiss, sex, drugs—but I’ve killed a man. I’ve done that. I close my eyes but when I do, my brain feels a bit liquid. I sort of hate that. But it seems a fair trade-off because the whiskey has dulled my aches. I like that.
“I’ve never…” I stare at the label. “I never…”
“You’re thinking about it too long,” Trace says.
“I’ve never run away from home.”
Cary drinks. When he was five, he explains. He didn’t want to clean his room.
So we go round and round, the questions getting more perverted and inane as we do. The bottle seems endless and I feel sleepy and hot and I’ve lied to them all a lot because I guess I care what they think and I don’t even know why I care what they think.
When Harrison passes on drink number who knows, Trace zeroes in on him.
“Man, what have you done ?” he asks. “You take drinks when you shouldn’t and you don’t drink when you should. You need to do something about your…” Oops. It’s not a sentence Trace should finish, but he does it anyway. “Life.”
“How world-weary were you at fourteen?” Rhys asks.
“I’m not saying he should’ve fucked someone already,” Trace says generously. He’s smashed. “But I mean, Harrison, do you like—do you even know what a kiss is? Like … do you need someone here to explain it to you just in case it happened and you didn’t know?”
“Jesus, Trace,” Cary mutters. Out of all of us, he’s the most gone. Or experienced, I guess. His shoulders are slumped and every so often he tilts forward like he’s lost his balance, even though he’s sitting. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I know what a kiss is,” Harrison whispers.
“He’s fourteen, ” Grace says, while Harrison sits there looking devastated. “Don’t be so hard on him, Trace.”
“I’m fifteen,” Harrison says miserably.
“Just forget it, Harrison. Please.” Cary grabs the bottle. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But it is. I’ve never—I’ve never
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